


Hostium munera, non munera

by AmyLerajie



Series: Dum loquimur, fugerit invida aetas [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:02:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13375860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyLerajie/pseuds/AmyLerajie
Summary: Gifts of the enemies are not gifts.





	Hostium munera, non munera

**Author's Note:**

> Promdyn Ship Week, day 2: Touch-starved Ardyn
> 
> This is a sequel to Omnia Munda Mundis, in a way, but a lot of time from one chapter to the other would be confusing in a long fiction, so it became a collection of random chapters.

"Hello, Ardyn"

Prompto knows damn well that he shouldn't be greeting him. Ignoring him, hoping he will grow tired of this game is better, because Ardyn tends to claw himself at the little attention Prompto gives him, like a stray dog wiggling its tail at the first human making eye contact.

Unfortunately, Prompto has a story of taking strays in.

That's how Ardyn is standing by the door of his kitchen, looking more dejected than anything, for a moment, before regaining is ridiculous posture and marching in.

Prompto almost expects him to twirl in the middle of the living room, for that wouldn't be the first time, but Ardyn simply stands and Prompto goes back rewiring his fridge to his new and improved generator.

He doesn't know how he knows how to, he just happens to know more and more. He just needs the right books, sometimes and bright ideas pop into his mind. Honestly, he finds that a little scary, it makes him think of eugenics and he doesn't look forward to find out what he was programmed to excel to.

Still, for the time being he is just relieved he can stock some meat in the fridge, because he hasn't been that keen on going hunting, lately.

"This is unreachable from the citadel." Ardyn laments. He can see his grandiose gesturing even with his back at him, Prompto, but just shrugs, not in the mood of following his antics.

"It was my house. I had the keys. There was a subway station not far from here, you know, before you and your friends destroyed the whole city."

Truth to be told, the outskirts of the city have been, at the same time, untouched by the Weapon and invaded by monsters. But monsters didn't wreck it that bad and Prompto has been living there for the last six months.

Out of habit, for the most part. He doesn't have that many good memories linked to the place. His parents had always been a vague presence in his life and the last thing he remembers is not even being able to say goodbye to them because they weren't home the whole week.

With time, Prompto has convinced himself that it all was because of what he is, although he can't deny they were not worthy of the title of parents of the year for any of the first twenty years of his life.

“Here.”

Ardyn's voice distracts him from the streams of his consciousness and he notices the box that is in his hands. He immediately stiffens, the striking difference between the colorful and shiny wrapping paper and the grayish man a little too ridiculous. Still, he is cautious and mildly annoyed.

“What's that.” Prompto asks, with no real inflection on his tone. He has grown weary of Ardyn's gifts, after the last one.

“An offering of peace, one may say.” it's Ardyn's answer, with a smirk. It's never good, when he's that happy. It's never something one would choose as a gift, at least. “Happy birthday, I guess?”

Prompto rolls his eyes and groans. This is getting old pretty quick.

“It's like... September, you aware of that? And you brought me a gift two months ago saying the same thing, I know you are very old, but this is a bit too much.” Prompto says, taking the carefully wrapped packet in his hands and wondering where in the Heavens the Chancellor might have found yet another cutesy wrapping paper. Last time it was ducks. This time it's Chocobo chicks. He can see a trend of sorts, in that and this makes him wonder of the mental image that the man has of him.

He hesitates, glancing at Ardyn, who's waiting expectantly, like he didn't knew what the gift was. Knowing him a little better, Prompto can't help but think if that's the case.

Then he sighs and open the wrapping carefully, ignoring the fact that he knows very well he will put it in a box. For the cuteness, he reassures his conscience about it. Not for the memory.

“I do hope it's not a Daemon.” he mutters, revealing a pile of books instead. This is new. This is safe. At least it's not another pet Daemon.

“It's your father diaries.” Ardyn spoils, like every other time. It's not evident, this time, at least, not as when he gave him a Tomberry with a bow on its knife.

(He literally said “It's a Tomberry with a bow on its knife.” as the Daemon tried to stab Prompto.)

Still, it hurts. Being reminded he is not a real human being, that he is only part of a crowd of generally mindless clones still makes his breath hitch, constricting his lungs.

“Well, aren't you an asshole.” Prompto says, gritting his teeth in a too-big smile before leaving the leather bound books on the table as he turns to face the sink. The noise annoys him. The Chancellor annoys him, too, he wish he could solve both of his problems with the same monkey wrench.

“You should read them. It's not everything he knew, but since you seem keen to follow his steps...” the man starts, before Prompto can turn abruptly. For a moment, he can see that fleeting expression of pain, the most recurring in the amber eyes, he can see the dejection, but doesn't care. He wants to scream at the man.

He is not going to be like Verstael. He can't even think of breeding humans for the sole purpose of making cannon meat. He can't even start to think of the pain of not being a person, of living knowing there is a limited amount of what it doesn't even look like life to live. He wouldn't do anything nearly similar to what that disgusting man made.

But Prompto grits his teeth instead, deciding that it's better to ignore the man in his kitchen.

He looks awfully out of place, there, too big and weird.

A painful thug in his heart says that it's not really it. Ardyn's look out of place because Prompto is used to solitude, in that flat. He feels lonely and hurt and he just wishes he could run two blocks away, to Noctis.

“It could help you with weapons, that's all.”

Prompto chooses to ignore the Chancellor. He is used to it. He just turns around and returns to the sink. It still leaks at an unnerving rhythm and he still doesn't know anything about sinks.

He guesses he could try to leave the spanner to Tom -the Tomberry who now sleeps in a little cat house he found in a wrecked pet shop- as he seems to know what to do when left with tools, but that could also worsen the situation with the Daemon frantically pounding the sink. He has seen that, too.

“I am not him.” Prompto says, in the end, facing the Chancellor. He almost expected to find an empty room, but the man is still there, a few steps from him.

Technically, he is him, although he really hopes to never reach that level of ugliness as an old man, Prompto is a clone. He can see it better than ever, as some things seem ingrained into his DNA, just in his back of his mind. He can read about it and have the weird sensation of knowing it already.

It's as useful as it's scary.

“I am just saying...” the Chancellor starts, but Prompto gestures him to stop. It's all right, he gets it.

“I should work with all the weird coincidences and memories and knowledge to fix my sink, I get it.” he just says, glancing at the diaries before sighing. He steps in front of the older man and mechanically pats his head. “Good job. Is it better?”

And it seems better. Just weird. Surely something Prompto didn't expect, because the Chancellor seems to freeze for a moment, before tilting his head to the side a little, with the immediate consequence of tangling Prompto's hand into inescapable auburn hair.

Scared to rip it and leaving the Chancellor bald, Prompto closes the distance between them once more, trying to detangle the hand from the locks. It looks like Ardyn uses a whole lot of hairspray, in the morning.

He barely manages to escape, but now he's curious. Prompto looks at the older man, chewing on his lips as to muster the boldness to repeat the gesture. He seems concerned, but his amber eyes are locked into Prompto's purple ones and the younger falters a bit before cupping one stubbled cheek.

Again, Ardyn moves his head and hides in the hand, scratching it lightly. It's not a bad feeling, it just a gesture that lacks of any possible logic. It's not necessarily bad. Endearing, even, if he stops being stubborn, for once and considers the situation from another point of view.

Prompto lets the hand wander, again, amazed on how the skin where there is no stubble feels soft, on how he can feel the soft ridges of wrinkles around the eyes, before caressing his hair once again. Ardyn's eyes remain closed the whole time, making him look like a big old cat.

Prompto almost screams when he feels him falling with his head on his shoulder, but he's amazed by his own self-control, for once.

It's awkward, but Prompto stands still. Ardyn's face is mostly hidden in the crook of his neck and his breath is warm -his skin it's not- and it tickles a little. But it's not completely unpleasant.

Prompto feels like he forgot how it feels to be in a hug, after all this years left alone, perhaps yearning for some human warmth. With Noctis, it was never so blatantly shameless, it was almost coincidentally that they touched each other, fingers on each others face and hands meeting halfway from their shared space.

It hurts. He can feel the anger and the suffering he is trying so desperately to avoid bubble in his chest like an acid, burning a void that can only get bigger until it swallows him entirely. It's not long before he feels his breath hitch.

It hurts, but still Prompto raises the hand he had abandoned on his side and grabs Ardyn's wrist, biting his lips like he was trying to resist to some kind of the Chancellor's mind game or he was trying to ignore the scattered beating of his own heart.

He moves the hand to his own back and, as Ardyn's now properly hugs him, so tightly he is almost aware of the shape of his ribs, he can feel a familiar pang of pain, that has nothing to do with broken bones. It's deeper and more painful.

In that desperate hug, Prompto can recognize a need that is not sexual nor possessive and wonders just how long that broken man has not felt something similar to that. He pets his head until the older man stops squeezing and relaxes a bit.

He feels calmer too, now. Emptier, as when after crying too much, but better, in a sense.

Prompto can feel Ardyn lean back and he lets go of his hold, fingers still lingering in the impossible locks for a second or two. Ardyn's hand is still on his side, but the hold is gentle and he could get away in a second, if only he wanted to.

Does Prompto want it, though?

“Stay.” Prompto manages to whisper, like it was a secret, like it was physically impossible to say it. It almost feels like the lonely verb is scratching his throat like a sin.

Ardyn's eyes are the most sincere, for the longest he has seen them, for once. He is not sure of the amount of pain or loneliness he can see in them, because, perhaps, he can't really imagine it. But he brushes away his frown with his fingertips, at least a little and smiles as time seems to stretches and the only sounds in the room are the slow drops in the sink and the light snore of the Tomberry.

They are still too much close to each other, but Prompto can't feel the fear and the anger he felt months ago at the haven.

“So stay I will.” and Ardyn's voice doesn't seem as secure as he wants it to be. Perhaps they are too close to believe in comfortable lies anymore. Prompto wants to laugh, but his heart is clenched and his throat dry. Was that a challenge? He didn't get its exact tone.

“Ardyn.”

This is getting nowhere. Ardyn's amber eyes close for a second more, after that, as if in pain or savoring the sound of his name on Prompto's lips. It's confusing and the blonde can feel the heat on his face.

Another still moment passes, before he can manage to say something more. The drops fall in the sink and Tom just breathes in the background.

“Fix my sink, then.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, aren't you late, Amy. I am so sorry if someone actually waited for this, I will try to write faster, but English is not my first language and, of course, I got sick this week. But anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little chapter!


End file.
